* * *

For one last time my thought embraces
Your image, all but lost to me;
The heart with wistful longing traces
A dream that hour on hour effaces,
And dwells upon love's memory.

Our years roll onward, swiftly changing;
They change, and we change in the end —
Far from your poet you are ranging,
And darkness like the tomb's, estranging,
Has drawn you from that passionate friend.

This heart its leave of you has taken;
Accept, my distant dear, love's close,
As does the wife death leaves forsaken,
As does the exile's comrade, shaken
And mute, who clasps him once, and goes.